[Disclaimer: I do not own anything created by Joss Whedon...much as I'd like to own Spike]
Author's Note:
Answers to reviews, though I've forgotten who did the reviewing:
I. Hate. Buffy. There will be no B/S in my story, other than mention of past B/S. Ever. That is final. This is Cordelia's story, and Buffy is just an annoyance. If this offends, please, be my guest -- click the back button.
Do not fear, there will be no B/A in my story! I am not that twisted! I am a Buffy hater through and through, this story is C/S now, and if you'll read some of my other work, you'll see there is only one story where I even approach being nice to Buffy, and that's not even the Buffy of this world. I justify my niceness by having an alternate universe.
It's entirely possible that he did go to get a soul on purpose for Buffy. I chose not to interpret it that way, because I don't particularly like that idea. That's my right as a fanfiction writer, to deliberately misinterpret things because they don't fit the way I like 'em. But I have read a lot of fiction that says he didn't go to get it for Buffy, that the demon screwed him over, and I do agree with that. Since he never actually said his motives at the end of season six, it can be interpreted any way I like. That's just how I see it, anyhow.
Cordelia: [points and laughs at Lindsey after reading Imzadi's review of 'History Always Repeats Itself'] He can't even be evil right!
Lindsey: Hey! I almost burned your way of being saved from the Vocah demon thingie? Wasn't that evil?
Cordelia: Operative word, almost. You couldn't do it! You gave Angel a chance to get it back. Nyah, nyah, nyah.
Angel: Play nice, children.
Spike: [stunned] I think the ponce just tried to crack a joke. Oy, seer, did you forsee any bizarre mental illnesses for Peaches?
Cordelia: [looks equally worried] No...you don't think he's Angelus again?
Angel: Can I not have a sense of humor? [defensive] Why does everybody always think I'm Angelus?
Cordelia: Cracking jokes is just about as bad as wearing leather pants. And don't think I don't know about that pair in your closet.
Angel: [guilty look]
Spike: The poof kept the pants? [points and laughs]
Cordelia: You just want to see him in them.
Spike: [splutters]
Angel: [looks disturbed]
Oh, another small disclaimer. The story of Darla and the milkmen was inspired by a fic by...crap I forgot the author. It was a little story (well, rant) from Miss Edith's point of view about Drusilla. When Drusilla convinced Darla that a postman was going to kill her or something, and she swung between murderous rages and dreadful fear towards them. Being a demented seer has it's up points.
Soulful Eyes
Chapter Three: Peaches, Peroxide and Milkmen
by Adele Elisabeth
Cordelia shuttered as she listened to the short message, and her stance turned almost defensive. Spike wondered what it was that could bother her like that.
He didn't have to wonder long.
She hit a button, and thrust the phone at him, before disappearing into her bedroom.
"Hi, Spike? It's Buffy. We need to talk."
Spike stared after Cordelia. That bothered her? Why would that bother her?
He didn't note that he paid more heed to Cordelia's reaction than to the message itself.
Truth be told, Cordelia didn't know why, either. Her first thought had been 'She's going to take him away from me,' but that was absurd. He wasn't hers and she didn't want him. Not at all.
Buffy, Buffy, Buffy. It's always about her. Always. Why can't somebody see me first? Want me? I'm not playing second fiddle to a pint-sized superbitch. A blonde, to boot. Typical. It's not fair.
Her mind raced, and confusion reigned.
"You okay in there, pet?" Spike called, concern evident in his tone.
Was she? She wasn't sure. "Yeah."
He opened the door. "Gave me a right turn, actin' like you did."
Artfully contrived confusion looked innocently back at him. "Acting like what?"
Spike stared levelly back at her. She could pull that bullshit all she liked, he could be patient if he had to. He'd lived with Drusilla for over a hundred years, hadn't he?
Cordelia flushed and looked away first. After a pause, she asked, "Are you going to call her?" her tone was faintly challenging, and Spike registered that where lesser men might not have.
"I might." His tone was even. "Better to see her chasin' after me for once."
"'Guess."
You know he loves her, Chase. Stupid order of Aurora got a death wish, have they? Aurora borealis or something. No, that's the Northern Lights. Or was it Southern Lights? Screw it, who cares? Anyway, it's not like you wanted him, even if you had a chance. No -- Cordelia Callista Chase always has a chance. More than just a chance. I can have any man I like. Except Angel, but that's just because he's cursed, and he's in love with aforementioned pint-sized superbitch.
Spike observed her carefully. Something was running through her pretty little head, an inner battle of sorts. She reminded him of Dru, and he idly wondered what his princess had been like when she was sane, and mortal. He was still fond of her, but now it was tinged with pity.
"Just going to stand there and stare at me?"
"I might, at that. Got a good view here."
"I'm not blonde, and I'm not a dwarf." She pointed out, helpfully.
"Always did prefer brunettes. Was Angelus had a thing for blondes."
"Ah. That explains the peroxide."
"What?" Spike spluttered. "Why does everybody think me and Angelus got together? That's just wrong! I'm not a bloody ponce! I like women! Wo-men. With tits! Not Peaches, I do not want to get into Peaches pants!"
"But you didn't say you haven't." Cordelia pointed out, again, helpfully.
Spike paused. "Didn't I?"
Now it was Cordelia's turn to pause. "You mean...Spike! Ewww, icky, ewww, eww! You and Angel? Ick, ick, ick!"
"Most older vampires are of ambiguous sexuality. Demons, too, I think. Anya said something to me about how she could understand how I was attracted to Buffy, something about her arse. I stopped listening after a while, though, so I can't be sure if that's what she said."
"You're definitely not going to...y'know, ever again?" Cordelia asked, suspiciously. Ewww. Icky. Angel and Spike! That had a squick factor of a google-plex.
Spike pretended to consider it, and Cordelia threw a pillow at him.
"I don't like it any more than you do, Angel. But we have to trust Cordelia's judgement until we can see it for ourselves." Wesley sighed, valiantly resisting the urge to wipe his glasses.
"Remember Wilson Christopher?" Angel asked darkly.
"See what for yourselves?" Spike inquired, lighting a cigarette as he walked in. He leered at Angel. "Greetin's, watcher boy, Peaches. Cor's been regaling me with tales of your doubtful manliness. And if she looks at you funny all day, Peaches? Not my fault. Honest." After the Angel-Spike revelation, he'd gone on to spread tales of the giggle-worthy kind, a few of Angelus's more amusing moments. And the time he and Drusilla convinced Darla that Angelus was in love with a milkman, but refused to say which one. Darla gave Angelus the cold shoulder for weeks, and milkmen kept turning up dead. That even amused Cordelia, though he'd been a bit worried it might be too much. Apparently Angelus never found out exactly why Darla went on a murderous rampage towards milkmen.
"What have you done?" Angel demanded, advancing on Spike. Spike backed up, into Cordelia, who'd walked in behind him.
"I'd say I was worried about testosterone poisoning or something, but I don't think I could find any in here." Cordelia commented as she passed. The insult was casual and seemed almost absent-minded. Force of habit, perhaps?
"Cordy, are you okay?" Angel asked her quickly, abandoning Spike, who gave him a two-fingered salute of his own as he walked away. "Don't think I don't know what that means, either, Spike."
'Stupid bloody ponce' could be heard, among other, more colourful, mutterings.
"Yeah, Angel, I'm fine. I thought we went over this?" Cordelia fixed him with a stern glare.
"Why isn't he calling?" Buffy muttered, glaring at the phone.
"Either he's too busy, or he got over you when he got his soul." Dawn told her helpfully.
"Got over me? Too busy?" Buffy's voice went up an octave.
"He's not your lap dog, anymore, Buff." Dawn rolled her eyes. "You say he's a thing, he can't love, and he's got to get over you, and then you get pissy when he does? Can you say, hypocrite?"
Buffy glared at her sister.
What a bitch.
What a bitch.
***
Author's Note:
Guest Speakers for this Author's Note, are:
Cordelia Chase!
Cordy: [curtseys]
Spike!
Spike: [bows]
Lindsey MacDonald!
Lindsey: [glares at the other two]
And, last but certainly not least, Dawn Summers!
Dawn: [grins impishly]
Spike: Cordy...[sidles up to her] Remember that cop lady, Kate?
Cordy: Yeah...
Spike: Think she'd loan us her handcuffs?
Dawn: [sniggers]
Cordy: Firstly, I don't know, secondly, eww, and thirdly -- hello, Dawnie is here!
Lindsey: Don't forget the evil lawyer. I'm evil, damnit.
Spike: Sure thing. [patronizingly to Lindsey] You're really evil. I'm sure they're really scared, really.
Dawn: [deadpans] Eeeek. It's an evil lawyer. I'm soooo scared.
Lindsey: [sulks]
Cordy: [points and laughs]